The Best Kind of Brave: Why My Daughter is My Hero Today and Every Day
Happy Birthday!
(Photo: Our Lake Tahoe Days)
Twenty-two years ago, after almost having a roadside birth, I was handed a tiny little girl at the birth center in Mission Hills, California.
I’d missed my son’s birth while deployed to Afghanistan with SEAL Team 3 in 2001 so this was all new to me.
She looked remarkably like she’d already seen the dark side of the moon and lived to tell the tale. Today, she’s an amazing young woman, a dreamer with a killer instinct, and the kind of leader who makes the loudest guys in the room look like they’re still playing dress-up in their dad’s closet.
Being a dad in this crazy world today is a tough job. You want to protect them from the jagged edges, but you also want them to be the kind of person who can sharpen their own blade. My daughter? She can sharpen, and make no mistake, it’s handled with her.
(Photo: Later on her and her brothers switched to Jujitsu.)
The Purple Belt and the Silent Truck
I’ve seen a lot of guys break under pressure, but I’ve rarely seen the kind of courage my daughter displayed at eight years old. She was testing for her purple belt in Taekwondo. She didn’t get it the first time, and her older brother did. Most kids would have melted into a puddle of entitlement right there on the mats.
Instead, she stood there in front of a room full of parents and students like a tiny Spartan. She took the criticism from her instructor without a flinch. Pure, unadulterated stoicism. It wasn’t until we climbed into my truck, away from the prying eyes of the crowd, that the floodgates opened. We hugged it out in that cab and talked about how good it would feel when she finally got her belt. And two weeks later, she went back and owned it. Her mom sent me a photo of her big smile, and yes, with a purple belt in hand. That is the difference between a victim and a victor. She’s had that gear since third grade.
(Photo: Our flight in New York. When she was tiny, I’d strap her car seat into the plane and do practice landings in the pattern while she chomped away at her binky.)
Flying Upside Down and her first big job in New York
Adventure isn’t just a hobby for our family; it’s a requirement for the Webb’s.
When she was twelve, I had her in the cockpit of my Vans RV6 airplane. With a little “gentle” encouragement from her dad, she executed an upside down roll off the coast of Long Island.
Most adults would have been looking for a barf bag, but she just leaned into the G-force and smiled.
“Wow dad, that was pretty easy.”
By sixteen, while most of her peers were busy scrolling through digital garbage, her art landed her in New York City. She was picked as an in-store artist at Saks Fifth Avenue for Christmas, and crushed twelve-hour shifts like a seasoned pro.
(Photo: After flying upside down, we headed over to Lady Liberty and she got this selfie that inspired all my NY friends to get the same!)
The Heart Behind the Hustle
What really gets me, though, isn’t just the adrenaline or the resume. It’s the way she handles the people in her orbit.
The Big Sister: She’s the anchor for her siblings and a huge asset for her mom.
The Global Friend: Whether she’s navigating the foggy streets of London one her bike with her crew or checking in on her bestie in Seattle, she’s the kind of friend who always shows up.
The Dreamer: She sees the world through a lens most people are too scared to look through.
She skis with the same intensity she uses to create. She’s a “doer” in a world of “talkers.”
(Photo: She must have been close to 13 here, and has an incredible in-house photographer AKA “Mom”)
At 22, she’s finishing her master’s in London this year after graduating from Goldsmiths last year in industrial design.
To my daughter: you are the best thing (yes, including your brothers!) I've ever helped put on this planet. And you will always be the beautiful, smart, and brave little girl in the blue dress to me.
Keep living loud, keep taking risks, and never let the bureaucrats of boredom tell you how to fly.
Welcome to level 22.
Love, Dad